


a new boo

by AnnaofAza



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Reunions
Language: af Soomaali
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: “I’m the frat bro that finds you and does the bignoooooooo,my call sheet says.”Shiro’s eyes brighten, and he smiles mischievously. “Got a good scream?”Or, Keith and Shiro meet again at a scary movie set.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 77





	a new boo

It’s a fairly simple scene: monster gets boy. Gruesome remains are found lying on the floor. Friend comes in and screams. Cut to police and students milling around the frat house. Cue paycheck.

Keith doesn’t consider himself an actor—he prefers to be the one behind the camera—but it pays more to be onscreen, and rent is ticking and his fridge is down to the frozens. It probably helps that he has a few lines on his resume—mostly commercials where all he has to do is hold a rake or jog down a path—and that he knew Matt, who operated in sound and gave him a tip that the crew was looking for local extras.

Wardrobe and make-up basically slap him in a red tank top, some slightly ripped shorts, and a backwards cap, then wave him out of the way. Keith shuffles over to the food table, mentally tallying how many pastries and fresh fruit his backpack can hold, when he spots a familiar face grimacing at the coffee coming out of the dispenser.

“Shiro?”

“Keith!” Shiro’s eyes brighten, waving Keith over with a sunny smile. “Fancy seeing you here. You look good.”

“You too,” Keith says, doing his best not to flush at the guy he hasn’t seen since high school.

Shiro’s gotten taller, with a white shock of hair coming out from the bright pink snapback covering his head and muscles almost indecently showing through his cotton tee. His face has been slightly misted with water, with his cheeks pinch-pink so it looks as if he’s been partying, and a fake dragon tattoo spiraling up his right arm.

Keith forces himself to look away, pretending to examine the basket of oranges and apples that are being largely ignored in favor of sweets. “Are you an extra, too?”

“Nah, it’s my big break,” Shiro says dryly, stirring a wooden stick into his coffee but not taking a sip. “I get a few lines and face time for pretending to be eaten by an idiotically-summoned demon. You?”

“I’m the frat bro that finds you and does the big _noooooooo_ , my call sheet says.”

Shiro’s eyes brighten, and he smiles mischievously. “Got a good scream?”

This time, Keith feels his ears go bright red. “Good enough. No frat experience, though.”

Shiro laughs, putting his cup down and snatching up a doughnut. “Believe it or not, I do. It was an engineering and STEM one; we volunteered but also got drunk and built _Home Alone_ traps in the frat house.”

“You?” He remembers Shiro being on student council, the head of diplomatic relations and environmental and robotics clubs, and taking almost every AP test known to man. But he also recalls Shiro bringing contraband take-out burgers and soda for them to split in an almost-always empty classroom, where they had their best conversations. 

_I’m looking at a motorbike, but the trouble is sneaking it home,_ he’d said to Keith more than once. _I’m sure my moms would notice before I even put down the cash._

Keith had fantasized for the rest of the year about sitting behind Shiro on that bike, arms squeezed tightly around his waist. 

“Did you get that motorbike?” he now asks.

Shiro pulls out his phone, swiping with his left thumb. “You remembered? Yeah, my grandma actually got me one for my eighteenth. Everyone went _nuts._ ”

He shows Keith his screen, an Instagram filled with a large black cat, family photos, and a very particular image that shows Shiro straddling a shiny red bike in a leather jacket and dark-tinted glasses: _Happy birthday to me!_

“Wow,” Keith says. “You— _it_ looks really good.”

“I drove here with it,” Shiro says, slipping his phone back into his back pocket. “You can check it out after shooting if you want?”

Keith grins. “I want. I have an old truck I fixed up, but that’s not the same, I guess.”

“You were always the star of the mechanics class,” Shiro says, pink rising on his cheeks, then looks up when someone calls his name. “Ah, guess I have to get an extra layer of makeup or something. _Scene_ you later?”

Keith fights not to burst out laughing at the terrible pun as Shiro half-jogs away, turning back to scooping some muffins into his bag.

* * *

The party is packed, full of sweaty bodies and red solo cups, lights dimmed. Music—the latest top 40—is pumping, as a keg stand is attempted. A guy’s parting through the crowd, exchanging a few laughs with some guests, moving towards the attic.

“He’s been up there way too long; he probably got lost,” he shouts.

One of his frat brothers laughs. “Bring down some more snacks when you’re up there!”

He receives a fist bump for his cheek, and they grin at each other, half-giggling, before they part.

The stairs are creaky and the way up is almost completely pitch black, but he keeps going, panting a little. Finally, he reaches the top, where the room is completely empty, save for an oddly-ajar window, swinging in the breeze. “Brad?” he calls. “You here?”

Nothing. He shrugs, looking around to see a carved wooden box with a silver lock tipped on its side, and moves closer, bending down, swaying slightly in place from the shots he’d slammed back when—

A grimy hand with long, pale fingers, transforming into a shadowy force, _yanks_ him inside the box, body parts shredding like they’re going through a wood-chipper, as he lets out a long, bloodcurdling scream.

Just seconds too late, as blood splatters messily across the floor, his frat brother runs in, slamming the door behind him. He looks at the scene, the box no longer there—only somebody he, with a look of dawning horror, knows.

“Josh!” he screams, falling to his knees and gathering up the mangled remains in his hands, trembling. _“Josh!”_

“That’s horrifying,” Keith says, with a grimace.

Shiro pouts, mouthful of popcorn and candy corn mix stuffed into his cheeks like a greedy chipmunk. They’d seen a jumbo bag of it at the store while picking up groceries and some celebration beer after Shiro got an unexpected callback—a cheesy sci-fi drama that promised Shiro a recurring role as the snarky and intrepid time traveler. “It’s delicious, and you’re just in denial.”

“No, I have taste buds,” Keith retorts, reaching for his mug full of hot cider. “Also, they’re lingering on my face way too long. You’re the dead guy.”

“You’re the handsome one who didn’t get eaten.” Shiro leans back on the couch, arm pulling Keith closer to his side, Keith flapping around to save his drink from spilling onto either of them. “That corn syrup blood tasted terrible. I can’t believe you just buried your face in your hands like that.”

“Hey, I was devastated,” Keith protests, tucking his legs underneath him.

From the floor, Shiro’s cat bats at his socked feet, then goes back to grooming herself near the jack-o-lantern, whose orange still stained the palms of their hands. Shiro had roasted the seeds, and Keith had whipped up pumpkin muffins that they both like to grab in the mornings before rushing out the door.

Shiro picks up another mouthful of his cursed snack as Keith rests his head on his shoulder. He’s bundled up in Shiro’s old fraternity sweatshirt, smelling of pumpkin spice and coffee, ridiculously pleased to have SHIROGANE stamped on his back. Shiro _really_ likes it too, especially when Keith wears it with his booty shorts around the house, only rivaled when he dons Shiro's leather motorcycle jacket with his hair pulled back. 

Shiro’s phone chimes, and he yanks it out, snorting with laughter.

“Look, Matt just sent me these; people are already shipping us.”

“ _That_ was fast.” Keith stares at the wall of hashtags and live Tweets. “Too bad we only have like, two minutes of screentime.”

“That stops no one.” Shiro rolls his eyes at the screen, cracking his neck. “Commercial break. They do this on purpose. Want me to grab you anything?”

“No,” Keith says, sinking further into Shiro’s side. “I’m fine just where I am.”


End file.
